


A Heart is Hard to Translate

by cluelesspaladin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Spirit!Lance, Summoner AU, Summoner!Shiro, but like, contract bond to friends to lovers?, it's appropriately vague do what you will with this information, soft angst? If that's a thing, they're both soft idiots, urban fantasy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluelesspaladin/pseuds/cluelesspaladin
Summary: "My name is Takashi Shirogane. I call upon the unseen world to heed my words; here is a contract, a call for a soul. Magic for magic, a soul to help."-A ten-part story of a Feathered and his Parchment, retold from Lance's perspective. Following the events that began with those fateful words and the subsequent relationship that follows.
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	A Heart is Hard to Translate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koalaoshiz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaoshiz/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sanded ink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22302133) by [koalaoshiz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaoshiz/pseuds/koalaoshiz). 



> This work was created for the Year of Shance Valentine's Exchange! I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

** I **

_ "My name is Takashi Shirogane. I call upon the unseen world to heed my words; here is a contract, a call for a soul. Magic for magic, a soul to help."  _

Curiosity. 

Every potential contract attracts them, of course; magic in its very core is something formed from curiosity, the need for knowledge- the potential of the unknown. It is not the first contract they have heard, nor the first they would appear to. 

Kin glowed brightly like stars around them; some large and soft, others small and fiercely glowing like the power of the Sun was harnessed in their form. It was less of a consciousness and more a sense of _lightsoundtouchjoinlife_ as they brushed into one another, mingling and separating again. Some simply merged, becoming larger and brighter, colors blooming from their centers like the flowers they had heard of from others who had not fit their contracts. 

They appear to this contract call curiously, circling the caller with the others, jostled out of the way by the more boisterous clusters. They are content to wait until they have had their opportunity to examine the caller in their own way, bobbing along with a handful of others who do not glow as brightly as the bold. 

** II **

The caller is injured. 

They approach slowly, avoiding the still brightly clamouring group in front of the caller’s eyes in favor of moving to the aura of pain surrounding Caller. It’s the blood from the initial summons- they think it should not be doing that. If they had features, perhaps they would be affixed into one of furrowed brows and concerned eyes.

But they do not. They are often overlooked in favor of their more powerful kin. They cannot truly feel disappointment, but there is always an odd disconnect whenever another is chosen. 

They follow the source of the pain, even as the caller lifts the injury higher. Some of the fluid from the wound seeped into their form; perhaps the closest thing to taste and touch as they analyze it in their own way. 

They sense the others, an aura that attracts them with an unusual fixation. Perhaps it is because of the fluid from the caller that disperses in their core that they follow the aura _into_ them, following the trail of an echo of pain. Spirits are finely attuned to such things; it isn’t difficult to realize that this particular summoner has suffered some great events. Several lines they followed, curling through the solid form of the caller and examining the damage for themselves. 

They weren’t terribly concerned of the feather the caller had. It was unlikely they would be chosen; they were too dim, too soft, too forward with their current display as they pulled from the caller to digest the aura that they had brushed against. 

_ "Are you concerned about me?" _

They still, curling in on themselves. For a moment, they weren’t certain that Caller had spoken to them. 

(Of course they want it, but they wouldn’t dare be as bright and flashy as the others.)

_ "Do you want it?" _ The feather moves as the summoner shakes it in their direction, and they retreat cautiously. Why would the caller want them? 

_ "You don't?" _

They feel their form blink, something akin to nervousness in their not-quite-consciousness as Caller turns their attention to them.

_ "It's okay if you don't. But… I would have liked to make a friend of you, seeing how concerned you were about me. I don't really care about power, about social conventions. I prefer having someone that wants to stay by my side because of mutual friendship and empathy- not because all there is between us is a binding contract." _

They pause. The fluid from the summoner stirs around their form as they make their decision, twirling around the proffered feather with a pulsing light. The caller pulled the contract and signed their name on the line, activating the intricate magics woven into the parchment and enabling the spirit to be able to touch it for themself. 

Carefully, they take the feather from the caller’s hand, feeling the weight of it in their form as they paused over the paper. They had no name- no spirit did in the beginning. They barely had something to count for a consciousness until they were bound into contracts. 

_ "Right. You need a name. What do you think of 'Lance'?"  _ Caller says warmly after a moment of contemplation. 

They think of it, the feather swaying with them as the name settles over them. It is a good name, they think agreeably. Short but lilting in the way the caller had said it. That done, they write the name in shaky hand writing, feeling the power of the contract pulse through them as it dissolved into dust and a new rush of air swept over them. 

Him. 

He examined his new form with quick eyes; terra cotta flesh, white fabric over his newly developed torso, shoes that he distantly recalled one of his kin showing them in excitement once their contract had dissolved. Eyes were a strange thing, he noted immediately; rather than sensing everything via aura, he could see the vibrant colors surrounding him and pair them with the knowledge he had of this world. 

Smiling, he bowed to his new Parchment, his kin rolling themselves over and through his skin before returning to their own plane of existence. They were all glad for him in finding his match- for too long he had lingered amongst them without opportunity to experience the earthly plane for himself. 

“They’re happy for me.” He says, a hand moving to his mouth out of startlement and wonder. “Huh. That’s a weird feeling. Talking. I like it.” 

“I’m glad.” His Parchment- Shiro, the contract that binds them together has provided, says. The world continues to come into focus around them as the other realm vanishes, revealing a vivid sky of soft pinks and orange hues Lance has never seen for himself. He pushes the thoughts- he has thoughts! Real thoughts! – to the side as he refocuses. 

“Thank you for choosing me, master.” Lance says with a warm smile on his lips as he bows again. “It’s an honor to be serving a Parchment such as yourself.” 

The words are formal, ceremonious, even. He’s heard of the ways that he would be expected to behave with a Parchment of his own, the words of the contract almost engraved into his mind as a reminder of their bond to one another. 

Evidently, Shiro feels the words are a touch too much for the occasion. 

“Please, Lance.” He says, gaze averted for a moment. “I said I wanted a friend. That isn’t how one acts.” 

He doesn’t let it bother him as he laughs out a bright, “oh!” and takes Shiro’s hand into his own, tucking the feather of their bond behind his ear. “That’s going to need some adjustments, then.” 

“Of course.” The other male said, apparently surprised to see that Lance had done something- perhaps it was the strange arm his Parchment bore? “Then… how about we go home?” 

Lance beams in lieu of a reply.

** III **

Lance realizes quickly that the circumstances that left Shiro with his prosthetic and scars left more than just physical marks. 

Barely three days into their contract, Lance is roused from “sleep” by a low whine of fear from the other room. (He has no true need for sleep as his Parchment does; he replenishes his energy from the natural magics that surround them in this world. Already, though, he has found that he deeply enjoys lying down on the soft fabrics that Shiro contains within his home and resting.)

Fear echoes through Lance as he hauls himself to his feet, eyes wary as he bursts into the room. But there is no intruder that he can see; Shiro is curled onto his side, back to the wall as he makes another wounded noise deeply in his throat. 

“Master?” he asks, deeply concerned as he approaches the bed. Shiro had been find before he had retired for the night, no signs of any distress like that he was displaying now. Lance inwardly cursed- he didn’t know what to do in this situation!

Shiro lets out a high keen in his throat, and Lance reacts, touching his Parchment’s shoulder. 

Wrong choice. 

Instinct takes him over as Shiro comes to life in reaction, an arm lashing out as he bolts upright. His form shrinks into that of his familiar- a large Flemish giant with thick fur, leaping back as Shiro continues to struggle upright. His breathing is labored as his head swivels abruptly around the room, pausing when he notes the large rabbit that has taken up residence on his floor and looking three ways scared to Sunday. 

It is, admittedly, one of the more unconventional ways to reveal his secondary form- Lance had been intending to when Shiro asked, perhaps selfishly clinging to the idea of it being his idea. 

He’d gotten his wish, in a roundabout way. 

“Lance?” Shiro asks slowly, distantly. There’s a confusion to him as he continues to take in the room, brows furrowed as he takes in the circumstances. 

“Are you alright, Master?” Lance asks softly, wary. His ears are pinned to his back, every inch of his rabbit form poised for a swift retreat if something goes south. He doesn’t want it to happen- he’s already become rather endeared to his Parchment, despite some of his oddities in the last few days. 

“Call me Shiro, please. You don’t have to call me Master.” The man replies automatically, some of the tension removed from his shoulders. “You’re a rabbit.” 

“You startled me.” Lance replies plainly, perhaps a tad dry. 

“Right.” Shiro chuckles, but it’s a strained, painful sound that tugs at Lance’s heart. “I probably should have mentioned this.”

“Is it because of whatever happened to you?” Lance asks carefully, hopping a little closer. He feels the whiskers on his nose twitch as he pauses, waiting to see what Shiro does next. 

“Yeah. You could say that.” Shiro manages, and shit those are _definitely_ tears. 

“Would it help if I stayed?” Lance asks softly, tone as gentle as he can make it. This is not what he expected, not what he knew of Parchments that the others had showed him. This was new and strange and nothing in their contract quite covered anything like this-

“Please?” 

The small noise that followed the word would have broken anyone’s heart. 

“Of course, Mast- _Shiro_.” Lance struggles, the regulations of the contract singing through his veins as he hops over, somehow managing to make it onto the bed without assistance. 

Shiro’s breathing is ragged as the rabbit carefully shuffles himself to tuck himself against the man’s side; it isn’t much, but it’s all that the Feathered can offer in the moment. 

Lance allows himself the indulgence of dozing off when a tentative hand rests between his shoulders. Lance makes no move to show that he’s even aware of the touch- it doesn’t terribly bother him, and Shiro’s hand is careful as flesh fingers slowly work their way through his silky fur. 

It feels… pleasant. 

** IV **

****

As a Feathered, Lance knows innately and intricately the delicate complications of a contract. The second he signed his to Shiro, the words engraved themselves in the back of his mind; rules, regulations, the binding words that would not allow him to harm his Parchment. 

But Shiro seems hellbent on refusing to allow Lance to follow his contract, and it is baffling to the Feathered as he settles into this new life with the man. Rather than the traditional contract that Lance signed, Shiro is more intent on having Lance act as a friend- the same thing he had maintained since he had spoken such words during the Calling. 

To put it simply, Lance is confused. 

About many things; after all, this is his first contract, his first Parchment to ever desire a relationship outside that of a tool and a magic wielder. But also about the world surrounding him. Technology, people, places; all of them new and alarming in some instances. 

He knows Shiro comes from an old Parchment family. To what extent he doesn’t know, but he suspects it had to do with the incident that took his family away from him. 

He knows Shiro is close with a young Parchment family- or rather, he thinks. Shiro hasn’t said anything terribly specific, but he has referenced a “Pidge” in conversation several times whenever Lance does something unusual. 

He also knows that Shiro blames a very old Parchment family for the incident that he won’t speak about, but won’t tell Lance who. But what Shiro doesn’t say is always louder than the things he does.

Lance can’t fault him for wanting to keep his secrets. 

** V **

****

By the time Hunk finds a way into Lance’s life, it’s been a few months since the Feathered signed his contract. Reactions are usually mixed to seeing a Feathered without their Parchment, but Shiro was busy with the shop and trusts Lance to make the run on his own. 

Hunk doesn’t look at Lance like he’s just a tool, like some of the other Parchments he passes by in the street or meets while he’s with Shiro. And it makes their friendship burst into life like the sun rising. 

Which is why Lance goes to Hunk to try and find Shiro an appropriate birthday gift. 

“I just don’t know what to get him, Hunk!” he whines, throwing his head back and groaning in exasperation. “I don’t want to overstep or anything, but I also don’t want to get anything that is too impersonal, you know?” 

“Not really.” The man shrugs. Clear amusement is written all over his face as he watches Lance spiral into something akin to frustrated insanity over trying to figure out what to get his Parchment for his birthday. “To be fair, not too many Feathered buy anything for their Parchment for events.”

“Which is why I should!” Lance emphasizes. “It’s a leap year- he should get to celebrate officially turning seven!” 

Hunk visibly restrains himself from outright laughing, but at the same time, it’s hopelessly endearing to see Lance so obviously enthusiastic about trying to celebrate Shiro’s birthday. It isn’t every year that a leap year comes about, after all; despite Shiro trying to explain several times to the Feathered that his birthday came around _officially_ every four years, it didn’t mean he wasn’t his current age. 

Lance, obviously, had disregarded that information in lieu of honing in on the fact that his Parchment had only had _six_ official birthdays in his life. 

And yet he had no idea what to get the man for his birthday. 

He wasn’t entirely familiar with what constituted an appropriate gift- or what would a gift even be, for a Parchment from his Feathered?

Hence Hunk’s current assistance. 

After seeing handwoven bracelets in a nearby window, Lance demanded Hunk show him how to do the same patterns so that he could make a bracelet for Shiro. 

(Hunk had an extended family and had already proven he knew such techniques, and thus made himself a perfect target of Lance’s insatiable need for new knowledge.)

Which is how Lance comes to be weaving a thick brown bracelet woven through his personal brand of magic, threading beads of pale blue throughout. It’s a simple gift, and there’s no doubt that he’s nervous about giving it to his Parchment, but something tells him that Shiro will love it regardless of how simple it may be. 

(Shiro tears up when he sees the gift waiting for him and Lance panics before realizing that it isn’t a bad thing.)

** VI **

****

The day Shiro replaces all the floors in the house with the most amazing rugs Lance has ever felt in his life is a day to remember. 

Lance can’t help the small noise of delight as he toes his way onto the plush rug, unable to resist taking to his smaller Flemish Giant form in order to… _ahem_. Fully appreciate the textures of the carpet. 

He doesn’t even know what else to do other than push his furry body across the floor in utter bliss, racing around to each corner so that he can further claim it as his own. It’s utterly overwhelming in the best of ways, energy surging through him to the point he overshoots the rug and skids out on the floor. 

Which is when Shiro decides to announce his presence with a bright laugh. 

“Shiro!” he whined, returning to his two-legged form and hiding his face in his hands out of sheer mortification. 

(Shiro never did delete the video he’d taken, either.)

** VII **

****

Shiro is a very gentle man. 

It’s abundantly clear in the way that he goes about his day at the shop, in the house, and in the way that he tends to his small but well-cluttered garden. Lance knows it well, considering his summoning took place there. It’s full of life and insects now; most summonings cause such events to happen from the excess of too many spirits being in the same place at once. 

Which is why Lance enjoys spending so much time outdoors when he can. Shiro can’t cook to save his life, but he does have a green thumb and Lance takes every opportunity he can to drag his Parchment out into the sun and get some work in the garden done. 

Lance will freely admit he quite enjoys watching Shiro’s tension bleed out of his shoulders as he digs his hands into the dirt and speaks softly to some of the smaller plants growing. Something about positive reinforcement helping them grow.

Lance won’t admit it, but watching Shiro’s gentle nurturing causes something soft to bloom inside his chest. 

** VIII **

****

With Shiro’s night terrors as often as they are, it becomes a habit for Lance to take his Flemish Giant familiar form and hop up (more often than not scooped up by an amused Shiro, now) onto the bed. Neither of them say anything, but through their growing Feathered/Parchment bond, Lance can sense the relief that Shiro feels every time that Lance scoots up next to him. 

After a while, it’s not even mentioned as Lance takes up residence on Shiro’s chest, his flesh hand tangled in Lance’s fur and tracing patterns against the Feathered’s skin. 

It makes it easier for Lance to rouse his Parchment in the rough nights, licking his face and rubbing his whiskers against every visible piece of skin he can reach. It works- most of the time. But since Lance’s insistence on joining Shiro, the really bad nights are less frequent. Something about Lance’s presence is enough to settle some of the shadows that cling to Shiro’s aura. 

It’s nice, being able to do something for Shiro after all the kindness the man has shown him since day one. 

** IX **

****

The inevitable meeting of the Holts had to happen eventually. Shiro spoke of them often; how they had essentially taken Shiro in after the older Parchment families had abandoned him to his life after the incident. How Colleen and Sam had been the ones to help him gather the necessary items in order to summon a Feathered. 

Which was probably how Lance was suddenly barrelled into when he answered the door in lieu of Shiro, who was puttering in the kitchen and chopping up salad. 

(It was the single thing Lance trusted him to do, considering that he was primarily left-handed and any knife incidences would not cost him a finger off of his prosthetic.)

Overwhelmed by the number of people suddenly invading their space, Lance did the first thing that his instincts told him- he turned into a rabbit and fled the room back to Shiro. 

“Shiro!” 

The call came the same time that Lance skidded around the corner to hide behind his feet, the sound of footsteps underwhelmed by the frantic pounding of his heart against his ribcage. 

“Oh. _Oh_.” 

Realization dawned on Shiro’s face as he looked down at his cowering Feathered. Lance looked like he’d just run through a windstorm, his fur swept every which way as wide eyes stared up at him.

“Matt, what did you do?” he asked, putting down his knife in favor of crossing his arms over his chest as Matthew Holt came into the kitchen, closely followed by his sister and parents. 

“You never came by to show us your Feathered, so we came by to see for ourselves!” the young man sniffed, though his eyes gleamed with mischief behind his glasses. 

“And nearly scared the poor thing half out of his wits.” Colleen scolded, cuffing her son upside the head with a click of her tongue. “I thought I raised you better.” 

“Well, that explains a few things.” Shiro sighed, glancing down at Lance again. “If I promise to keep Matt away from you will you join us, Lance?” 

“If he doesn’t touch me again.” The Flemish Giant retorted, whiskers twitching. 

“ _Matt_.” 

“I’m sorry!” the man threw up his hands. “I can’t help it sometimes!” 

“All the time.” Katie muttered, tossing her newly cropped hair over her shoulder. “Thanks to your last inability to help yourself I _had to cut off all my hair_.” 

“Now now, let’s not start this argument here.” Sam said agreeably, placing a hand on each of his children’s shoulders. “I’m sure Shiro has better things to do than listen to you two bickering.” 

During the commotion, Lance had resumed his two-legged form, sticking as close to Shiro’s side as he was physically able as he watched the new people warily. Well, mostly just Matt. The other three Holts he was watching with open curiosity, grinning as Katie ducked out from under her father’s arm and retreated closer to Shiro’s side of the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry about intruding like this, Shiro.” Colleen apologized with a sigh and a shake of her head. “Unfortunately, it seems I was outvoted on this excursion.”

“It’s alright, Colleen.” Shiro sighed, a small smile gracing his features. “We were; rather, Lance was getting me to prep a salad for dinner.”

“It’s barely past noon.” Katie deadpanned. 

“I think we can all agree the earlier the start, the better it might turn out.” Shiro shrugged, cringing as he recalled a handful of other attempts that hadn’t gone nearly so well. 

“He’s learning. Just not very quickly.” Lance drawled, crossing his arms and cocking a hip. Shiro struggled to keep a straight face at the expression that crossed Matt’s face. 

The following afternoon passed with surprising civility once introductions had been officially conducted. And, as Shiro had predicted, Katie and Lance hit it off like a house on fire. Katie’s natural curiosity about the contracts that Feathered had with their Parchments, coupled with Lance’s insatiable curiosity and a personality to match, meant that the pair were nigh inseparable by the time the evening came to a close. 

(Matt was still on Lance’s do-not-speak list, and likely due to his slightly petty nature, he allowed it. Matt should know better than to touch a Parchment’s Feathered without explicit permission; especially given the family he came from.)

Overall, it was something that had brought a more genuine smile back to Shiro’s face. 

He suffered no nightmares that night. 

** X **

****

Lance cracks a bottle of sparkling cider open one night- summer, the sun just beginning to go down over the horizon. He knows Shiro doesn’t drink much- it tends to make his night terrors worse than usual, and Lance would never jeopardize the amount of progress that he’s made over the last few months with Lance’s help. 

It’s been a year since Lance signed his contract with his Parchment, and he wants to make it special. 

Lance knows Shiro has been too busy the last couple of weeks to remember it and thinks only endearingly of him for it. He forgets small things sometimes, so caught up in his work in trying to make the world a better place, one person at a time. Lance is more than happy to pick up the slack. 

His Parchment has no idea what Lance’s plans are, only following the Feathered out into the garden once Lance mentions that there’s already food on the barbeque and he’s got several bottles of varying sparkling juices and ciders in a cooler. Not to mention the old patio furniture Lance has spent the last couple of hours pulling out of storage and cleaning so that there’s a table and chairs ready. 

It’s horribly domestic, but Lance doesn’t mind it as he shoos Shiro to sit down as he checks on the burgers he has on the grill. 

Stars know Shiro deserves and needs a break. 

Once the food has been served, the pair settle into their chairs and watch the colors of the sky as the sun descends lower and lower through the buildings surrounding them. Shiro seems happy enough that he doesn’t have to try and cook- not that Lance would let him, the man hasn’t improved his skills in a kitchen _that much_ yet. 

Food is something that Lance loves; second only to his consistent pleasure in soft fabrics. The sheer number of different cultures and dishes is something that continues to baffle him despite being as creative as possible and trying as many new things as he can. 

The food gone, the sun finally behind the horizon, Lance lights the small lanterns that he set out, the glow kept alive by Lance’s magic as he reclines lazily in his seat. 

“So, what’s the occasion?” Shiro asks, sipping at his sparkling peach juice and lifting a brow when Lance plays innocent. 

“Can’t I just do something nice for my Parchment?” he protests indignantly. 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” Shiro chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender. “But you don’t usually pretend that you’re not up to something when you very clearly _are_.”

“Well…” Lance says, pulling himself upright. Suddenly his confidence vanishes, leaving him feeling flushed as he clears his throat. “There _is_ a reason.”

Shiro gives him space as he sorts himself out. Obviously he can feel some measure of it through their contract-bond, but Lance doesn’t focus on that as he chews on his lip for a long second. 

“It’s been a year since we signed a contract.” He finally blurts out. “I know it’s not a big thing for Parchments or anything, but I thought since you’ve been so amazing that you deserved _something_ as a gesture of how much I appreciate you choosing me-“

Whatever he’s about to say next is cut off by a sound pressure against his lip.

_ Holy shit my Parchment is kissing me holy shit  _ Shiro _is kissing me-_

Lance’s brain shorts out at the realization; by the time Shiro pulls away, eyes warm in the glowing lights of the lanterns, he’s pretty sure there’s a pretty obvious Error 404 warning floating above his head. There was no way that just happened-

Except it did. 

“Lance?”

“Hold on a sec, I’m still trying to reboot my brain.” He says automatically, tone a little faint. 

There’s a soft laugh- nervous even- from Shiro, but he does give Lance some breathing room as the Feathered attempts to unravel the tangled ball of yarn his brain just became. 

After a solid silence, he exhales. 

“So. Okay. That happened.” He says eloquently. 

“Yeah.” Shiro agrees, cheeks tinted suspiciously pink as he coughs and averts his gaze. “I didn’t mean to be so forward, but-“

“Oh no. No, no. You are not apologizing for this.” Lance cuts him off, a finger held to his lips disapprovingly. “You might be my Parchment, but I’m _your_ Feathered. And that means we both signed a contract. Now, as to the contract itself… there’s nothing in it that says a Feathered and their Parchment aren’t able to have any kind of… _relationship_ … outside of the professional.”

“You’re way too compelling for your case.” Shiro laughs, uncovering his face. 

“I know.” Lance replies smugly, turning a tad shy a moment later. “So, uh. I wouldn’t mind another helping of whatever that was a couple minutes ago?” 

(Shiro does. Gladly.)


End file.
